


Missed Messages

by penguistifical



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, when you're bad at saying "I care" but great at knowing how to annoy the other person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguistifical/pseuds/penguistifical
Summary: The sixth time his cell phone rings, Peter seriously considers dropping it overboard.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 11
Kudos: 202





	Missed Messages

**Author's Note:**

> so, about those voice mails.....  
> got me writing a thing

The first time his cell phone rings, Peter ignores it. He doesn’t pick up the second time either.

The sixth time that the grating ringtone sounds, it interrupts his mood as he’s comfortably leaning against a shipping crate, looking out at the pleasant vacantness of the surrounding ocean.  
  
He considers reaching over the side of the Tundra and dropping the phone into the water. The image of Elias indignant in his office as the call goes through to voicemail yet again while the phone sinks irretrievably cheers Peter enough to make him chuckle and actually answer.  
  
“Hello, Elias.” Peter says brightly, as if he hasn’t been ignoring calls for hours.  
  
“Peter, so glad you finally found time in your busy, busy day to talk to me.” Elias drawls, not quite managing to completely mask his annoyance in a way that Peter savors. “Honestly, I was thinking it might take nearly fifteen calls to get through to you. I’m really quite flattered. You must be missing me terribly.”

Throwing the phone into the ocean is sounding good again.  
  
But, Peter leans his head back onto the shipping crate and sighs. “What did you want, Elias?”

“Just to chat. What are you wearing?” 

Peter considers, and decides it’s not worth mentioning Elias’s hypocrisy about which one of them is missing the other. “Are you drunk?”

“Not yet, not completely.” Elias says dismissively, but his tone suggests he’s considering it. Quickly, before Peter can hang up, he rushes forward with “Tell me, what are you wearing?”

Peter feels the distant compulsion like the ghost of a kiss on his cheek. He looks down at himself. “My sweater.”

“....Really. Thank you for that.” Elias says, as flat as the ocean is at the moment.

“Well, I don’t know what you were hoping I’d say. I’m not exactly in the habit of wandering around the Tundra naked. Impractical, that.” Peter listens carefully, but if Elias is grinding his teeth, he can’t hear it over the phone. “Elias, I know you spend all your time in your office shuffling around your papers, but surely even someone who only _looks_ at boats should know th-”

“Yes, obviously.” Elias snaps. “It was a lead-in so that you could return the question, because you so very often need a tremendous amount of guidance to be entertaining.”

Peter leans on the rail and looks out at the waves, enjoying himself immensely as Elias continues to ramble on. The weather looks to be holding pleasant. It’ll be a calm and quiet night, the kind where the fog lies easy on still waters and helpfully swallows up any screams.

Elias eventually winds down. “You could ask me what I’m wearing, is the point.”

“I could,” muses Peter. It’s not very likely that Elias called to appreciate him with the details of an attractive outfit, although Peter knows that he owns several. He’s even bought Elias a few things to wear on occasion. He smiles absently in remembrance of Elias sitting primly in his lap, allowing Peter to gently run his hands over lace and straps as Peter in turn allowed Elias to run equally teasing hands over the thoughts at the very surface of his mind.  
  
A servant of the Lonely doesn’t open up to just anyone - or anyone at all, for that matter - but especially not to confide private fantasies. It’s one of Elias’s better features that he can simply pluck them from Peter’s thoughts, dipping into some of Peter’s more intimate speculations as Peter dips his fingers underneath soft fabric.

But, nice as that is to think about, it’s much more likely that Elias is wearing something in triumph from Artefact Storage and called to gloat.  
  
He drums his fingers on the rail of his ship.

“The sweater is blue,” he tells Elias, running a hand down the soft dark fabric that matches the ocean at the sunless hours of dusk and pre-dawn. He’s always enjoyed the impression that he’s faded into the emptiness of the sea as he retreats into the Lonely.

Elias sputters and hisses like a smoldering fire someone is trying to put out by weeping over the smoke.

“I _know_ it’s blue, you idiot. I don’t know why I even called.”

Peter knows why. It’s because Elias doesn’t have anyone else to call. He knows Elias enjoys secreting himself in his office, casting out his gaze and soaking in the experiences and encounters of others. But, when it comes time to actually speak to someone, there’s very few people remaining in Elias’s circle. Who else could he possibly turn to?

It’s a beautiful isolation that Peter finds himself unable to stay away from.  
  
He listens fondly to Elias’s riled up ranting for a moment, before asking “How do you know it’s blue?”

“What?”  
  
“My sweater. You said you know it’s blue?”

“Finally, an interesting question. Turn around, Peter. Have a look at what you’re resting on.”

Peter sighs, but tilts his head upwards to peer at the shipping crate. To his surprise, something is looking back at him.  
  
An unmistakable outline of an eye has been etched into the aging metal. The shriek of it being inscribed through the rust must have been awful. He reaches out, meaning to run a finger along the edges of the shape that shouldn’t be on his boat, but stops when he realizes the air around the metal is shimmering, as if above a mirage.

“Careful,” Elias tuts. “Mustn’t touch.”

Peter withdraws his hand, but continues examining the etching. “How’d this come to be on my ship, Mr. Bouchard?”

“Mm, I had a chance encounter with one of your sailors. It turns out he was motivated to get onto your boat for the great deal of money you were giving him. I simply asked him to draw a certain shape for more of the same.”

“You’re using my funds that I gave to the Institute to bribe my crew?”

“Well, he’s on the Tundra now, isn’t he? Take the money back, if you like.”

Now he knows in part why Elias called: to demonstrate how easily he could put his mark on Peter’s things, how simple it was for Elias to infiltrate what should have been a private space.

But, it’s a small mark, easily removed by dumping the shipping crate overboard. And it’s not as if Elias is actively thwarting something he’s planning. Just...nudging him from a distance, the same way he’s doing by calling. Peter meets the gaze of the rusted eye, and it’s not uncomfortable. He’ll keep the crate for at least until he deals with whoever drew the eye.

“I think I _will_ be taking that money back.” Peter says slowly, considering the merits of a shipping crate coffin. “For a start. Which of my people is it?”

“I can’t quite recall his name, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, getting sloppy in your old age?” Peter asks, in mock concern. “Don’t worry about it, in your case, it’s really to be expected.”

“He was very good looking.” Elias fires back. “I definitely remember that.”

“Then, what else did you give him, Mr. Bouchard, besides my money?” Peter asks, voice dripping with implication. 

His shot finds no target.

“Nothing,” Elias says easily. “I’m a married man, after all.”

There’s really no need to continue talking to Elias, miles and miles away yet making his presence strongly felt.

Peter could drop the phone into the ocean, or just hang up.

Instead, he sighs. “What _are_ you wearing, then?”  
  
Elias tells him about a locket he’s retrieved from a follower of the Desolation, the portraits within turned to ash and the gold itself half melted, just a vague ruined remnant of the happiness it once symbolized.

Peter leans back against the shipping crate, underneath an eye etched in rust, and listens.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was entirely based around my thought that Peter Lukas would be spectacularly bad at answering "what are you wearing" over the phone
> 
> thank you everybody who leaves kudos and comments, you are all great and I really do appreciate it a lot


End file.
